


Mine

by msred



Series: Starting Over [25]
Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Late Night Conversations, Marriage, Pillow Talk, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Smut, newlyweds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25332421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msred/pseuds/msred
Summary: “I don’t know how he did it, how he was able to stand leaving you the way he had to do, for deployments and shit, for six or nine or twelve months at a time. It’s been three weeks and I felt like I was losing my damn mind.”*Little heads-up (putting it here instead of in the notes so that it would be seen BEFORE opening the story): The second half of this story is smut, so if that's not your cup of tea, I totally understand and respect that. But the first half has, I think, some good, relevant 'relationship stuff.' So, in case you want the relationship stuff but not the smut, I've left a bit of a gap right before the smut starts so you can read up to that point then check out if you want.*
Relationships: Chris Evans (Actor) & Original Female Character(s), Chris Evans (Actor) & Reader, Chris Evans (Actor) & You, Chris Evans (Actor)/Original Female Character(s), Chris Evans (Actor)/Reader, Chris Evans (Actor)/You
Series: Starting Over [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1423663
Comments: 14
Kudos: 38





	Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Can't Sleep Without You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20815979) by [msred](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msred/pseuds/msred). 



_18 months together, 2 months married (August, Year 3)_

Chris and I lay together in the queen-sized bed in the master bedroom of his rented townhouse just outside Atlanta, Trevor Noah delivering the news on low volume on the television on the other side of the room. The tv in the bedroom and the smaller-than-normal bed both served as reminders that we weren’t in our home, but not in a bad way, necessarily. It felt like a vacation, almost, for me anyway, like staying in a really nice hotel suite or condo. It was the exact opposite of a vacation for him, of course, since the whole reason he was there was for a job. (The whole reason _I_ was there was because my husband called me only three weeks into said job and told me he couldn’t sleep with me 1,000 miles away, and who was I to deny him sleep?) I was on my right side, my head tilted down toward the foot of the bed a bit so that I could just catch the tv out of my periphery, and Chris had curled himself around my back, right arm under his pillow and his left hand sliding, almost feather-light, up and down the outside of my leg from my hip to my knee. 

It was kind of ironic, actually - I was there because Chris had insisted that he wasn’t sleeping well by himself on his first job away from home since we’d gotten married, only two months in, and yet, there we were at almost midnight, still awake. The mid-afternoon nap we’d taken to recover from some rather, well, _intense_ physical activity when we’d gotten in from the airport probably hadn’t helped (we’d never engaged in anything close to true BDSM, but when he’d picked me up at the airport earlier that day he’d joked about ‘throwing me around’ when we got back to the townhouse, and I made sure he made good on that threat), and on top of that, for as much as we’d both already grown to sleep so much better when we were in the same bed, we were also both still buzzing a little from the pure joy and relief of being reunited. His hand hadn’t stopped moving, drifting over any skin he could reach, and every so often he’d bury his nose in my hair or the back of my neck and inhale deeply, sending a shiver down my spine and making goosebumps pop up over my skin every time. For my part, I’d pressed my back to his chest and hooked my left arm behind me so that my hand could curl over his bare hip, my fingertips resting in that dip in the muscles at the side of his glorious behind.

I felt his nose in my hair again, nudging it aside until the side of my neck was bared and open to him. He pressed his lips to my pulse just below my ear then trailed kisses down until he reached the neck of his t-shirt where it draped over my shoulder and collarbone. (As usual, he’d crawled between the sheets completely naked while I’d stripped to my panties before pulling the t-shirt he’d been wearing - a simple heathered blue one that I loved for how it made his eyes glow and that smelled so much like him I could have drowned in it - over my head.) He pressed a warm, long kiss to the last bit of skin left bare before his shirt took over and lingered there for several long seconds before finally speaking, just barely loud enough to be heard over the already quiet television, his lips moving across my skin. “I don’t know how he did it.”

My brow furrowed; I had no idea what he was talking about. It could have been in reference to something I'd missed on _The Daily Show_ , but I didn’t think it was. “How who did what?”

“Your husband,” his hand stopped its journey back up to my hip at about mid-thigh and squeezed gently, “how he was able to stand leaving you the way he had to do, for deployments and shit, for six or nine or twelve months at a time.” He turned his face back into my neck and kissed my pulse point again. “It’s been three weeks and I felt like I was losing my damn mind.”

“Okay first of all,” I slid my hand from his hip to rest it on top of his hand, twisting my arm around his in an almost pretzel-like fashion and sliding my fingers between his, “my _first_ husband.” I squeezed his hand under mine on the word ‘first,’ in case the way I stressed the word wasn’t emphasis enough.

“Huh?”

“You said my husband,” I pointed out, turning my face down a little into my pillow so that his head settled behind me into the same pillow. His forehead pressed into the back of my head and his nose nuzzled into my hair where he’d pushed it aside and it flowed down over the back of my neck. I squeezed his hand again and lifted it from my leg to pull it until it wrapped around my waist. “ _You_ are my husband. He was my first husband, and that will never change. And I wouldn’t want it to. But now, in this moment, and all the future ones, _you_ are my husband.” He moved his hand - well, _our_ hands, because I refused to let go - from where I’d rested it lightly just below my ribs to curl around my hipbone and hold me tighter. “Second of all, that was his job. It was what he did.” I shrugged. It would never stop being hard, painful, to talk about my first husband. But Chris’s understanding, his compassion and empathy, made it as easy as it possibly could be, a lot easier than I would have ever imagined it could be with a future partner (not that I’d ever really imagined a future partner; he truly came out of nowhere and took me by surprise). “And we both knew that going in. He chose to enlist, and several years later I chose to marry him knowing the path he’d chosen.” I finally slipped my hand from his and unwound our arms so I could reach up and behind me to rest my palm, a little awkwardly, on his cheek. “Just like I chose to marry _you_ knowing what _you_ do and that you won’t be able to come home to me every night. And finally,” I patted his cheek a couple times gently but sharply then brought my hand back to rest just in front of my face, “give it time, you’ll get tired of me.”

He scoffed, blowing a part into my hair that he quickly took advantage of, kissing the back of my neck. “Don’t count on it.” He kissed my neck again, then, after lingering for a second, scraped his teeth across my skin in a playful bite, making me squirm. I heard him chuckle before he went on. “Seriously though, don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to say anything bad about him or your relationship. In fact, I’m kind of in awe of his strength, his fortitude. It’s always been hard for me,” his fingers started to draw circles on my hip, dragging my shirt up little by little, “leaving you, even when we were just friends, but these three weeks, knowing that I had you, my _wife_ , back home, and I was here? God,” he breathed the word out heavily and shook his head behind me, “it’s been a lot harder than I expected it to be. There’s no way I could do months at a time like that without even _seeing_ you.”

I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t love the sentiment of what he was saying, or that it hadn’t been just as hard on me, having to watch him go only a couple months after we'd said _I do_. But I also couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t extremely important to both of us to be independent, even in the midst of our love for one another, or ignore the reality of the life we would have at least for the foreseeable future. My hand drifted to his forearm and my fingers traced long figure eights all the way from his elbow to his wrist. “Okay, if you were offered your absolute dream role - incredible writing, perfect cast, amazing director, Oscar material - but you had to go to, I don’t know,” I trailed off for a few seconds, my eyes drifting to the headboard above me before finally settling on an appropriate example, “Antarctica, for six months, you wouldn’t turn it down because of me.”

He chuckled into my hair. “I mean …” he drew out the second word and trailed off, implying that he wasn’t so sure about my assessment of the situation.

I rolled onto my back, his hand still holding securely to my hip and mine gripping his forearm, turning my head on the pillow to look him squarely in the eyes. “You wouldn’t.” His eyes showed a touch of surprise - at the sudden firmness in my tone, I would guess. “Because I wouldn’t let you. And if you tried, I’d kick your ass.” His eyes narrowed a little at the challenge - we both knew _that_ wasn’t possible - and I smirked. “Or at least kick your ass out of my bed until you came around.” 

“Wow, you drive a hard bargain.” He tugged on my hip, rolling me onto my side so that we were nose-to-nose, chest-to-chest. His eyes bore into mine and my stomach flipped a little as I pulled my left hand from between us to tuck under my pillow and lifted my right to curl around his neck, fingertips sliding lightly through his hair. His voice was light, but I could tell he was taking me seriously. Sure, the threats themselves were laughable, considering we both knew I would never attempt to cause him physical harm - and even if I did, the only way I would succeed would be if he sat back and let me (which, okay, he would probably do) - and even the idea of me kicking him out of bed was ridiculous. None of that meant that I was any less sincere about what I’d said about him not turning down a job because of me, though. 

I pulled my head back just a little so that his lips weren’t just _right there_ , so tempting. “And I mean it. I would never forgive myself if you gave up something you loved or something you felt was important because of me.” I brought my hand down to his chest and pressed my palm to his heart, “If and when that opportunity comes for you, I’ll be there,” I grinned a little, “embarrassing us both with my sappiness, to see you off, and I’ll be right there, just as embarrassing, when you return.”

“Well,” he laughed through his nose and followed me across the pillow, resting his forehead gently against mine, “we’ll cross that bridge if we ever get there, but I can promise you one thing, I will never be embarrassed of you.” He paused just long enough to kiss the tip of my nose, “The more ridiculous you think you’re being, the more excited I’ll be to tell anyone who’ll listen, _She’s mine_.” He pulled me tight against him, trapping my hand between us on his chest even as his moved from my hip, under the shirt that had ridden up to just above the waistband of my panties, to the center of my back to hold me close. His lips found mine, moving against me in the practiced but still exciting way he was so good at, his tongue tracing my bottom lip before he sucked on it gently, sending a chill from the base of my neck all the way down my spine, my fingers flexing on his chest and the other hand fisting the pillowcase. He broke the kiss for a fraction of a second before going in for another, his lips parted as a smile spread across his face. I took the lead then, sweeping my tongue into his mouth and across his as his hand pushed farther up my back until it curled over one shoulder, fingers digging into my flesh. I couldn’t help the little whimper that worked out of my throat as he pushed back, deepening the kiss even further before finally pulling back and pressing a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth.

He rested his head back on the pillow, watching me as I caught my breath and releasing his grip on my shoulder to bring his hand back down to the small of my back. His thumb drifted back and forth slowly as he waited until I was breathing normally again and, I would guess, most of the fog had cleared from my eyes. Finally he asked, quietly, “Does it bother you when I do that?”

I scoffed so hard I almost snorted and pulled my hand from between us to move to his neck, dragging my fingertips from behind his ear along his jaw as I told him, “That’s not exactly the word I would use.” I let my hand drift down his throat until I could rest it back on his chest.

He brought his hand onto my side to tickle just above my hip and I squirmed as his fingers sank into the soft flesh. “Little snot.” I squealed and pushed at his chest, managing to put maybe three inches between us and doing absolutely nothing to stop his tickling. He finally stopped when he was good and ready, after I’d managed to squirm and kick until I’d pushed the blankets down to both of our waists. He sighed, watching me calm down with a soft smile on his face. Finally he settled his hand an inch or so below the band of my panties at my hip, his first two fingers drifting almost absent-mindedly over the elastic outlining the curve of my butt. “No,” he corrected, his voice contemplative, but quiet and gentle, “does it bother you when I do things like say that I ‘have’ you, or call you _mine_? I’ve just, I’ve realized it can be kind of a dick move, ya know?” He scrunched his nose almost like he was the one being asked a question and he had to think about the answer. “Like I’m trying to show control or possession over you. And I don’t want to do that.”

I lifted my hand to his face, resting my palm softly on his cheek so that I could trace first his eyebrow then the curve below his eye with the tip of my index finger. Then, as I smoothed my thumb over his cheekbone, I told him, “Oh my god, I truly have no idea how I ended up with you.” I slid my hand until it curved around the back of his head and pulled him forward for another kiss, soft and sweet and _almost_ chaste. His large hand slid over the cotton covering my backside until he was cupping one cheek, and then some, probably, and I hooked my top leg over his. When I pulled back from the kiss, just before it reached the point of no return, I pulled my arm from under my pillow and folded it under my head. 

“The whole world already thinks you’re perfect, and I don’t think anyone would believe me if I told them you’re even better than they think you are.” He rolled his eyes, but I just went on. “No, it doesn’t bother me. Don’t get me wrong, I can see how it could be problematic, and I totally respect those women, or any romantic partners, actually, who feel like it is. But for me, for us,” I shrugged, lifting my top shoulder almost all the way to my ear, “no, I don’t see a problem. You’re worried about it being controlling or possessive, and it could be, in some instances, but that’s not how it feels to me, with us. To me, instead of possession, it feels like belonging. I _belong_ with you. And you _belong_ with me.” I found myself tracing his features - the shell of his ear, the cinnamon (and slightly salt-and-pepper) colored hair covering the line of his jaw, the vein at the side of his throat, the sharp bones of his clavicle. “And the beauty of belonging is, the responsibility goes both ways. When something belongs to you, you have a responsibility to take care of it. Think of Millie and Dodger, for example.” He’d been watching me with an expression of full attention, even concentration, but he smiled a little at the mention of the dogs. “They belong to us. They are ours. And yeah, that means, _technically_ , that we possess them and that no one else can have them, but it also means that we have a responsibility to make sure that they are safe and happy and healthy.” My hand stopped moving, settling firmly just below his jaw, my thumb bent up to rest on the corner of it where he so often carried his stress and tension. “So when I feel that you belong with me, it’s not that I think I _own_ you, it’s that I take responsibility for doing everything I can to make sure you are safe and happy and healthy,” I leaned in until my forehead rested against his, “and that you know, every single day, how incredibly loved you are and how incredibly proud I am of you and thankful I am for you.” I squeezed my eyes closed and pressed my lips to his. That was all it was, just two pairs of lips pressed together for a handful of seconds, but for a few of those seconds I actually felt like I might cry a little. I truly didn’t know that I’d ever felt the way he made me feel, and sometimes the thought made me feel incredibly guilty, but most times it was too powerful to ignore (and I’d tried, hard, in the earlier days). I pulled back, got myself together, cleared my throat a little, and went on, “So please correct me if I’m wrong here, but that’s the same way I feel when you call me yours.” Even though I was nearly positive he _wasn’t_ going to correct me, I still found myself feeling a little nervous while I waited for him to answer.

My nerves fully dissipated as that warm grin I knew and loved so well took over his face, his blue eyes bright and sparkling in the light from the television. “You are so not wrong.”

“Okay then.” I nodded once. “For us, in the context of our relationship and based on the way you treat me, with so much respect and care, always, I see no problem. I’m happy to belong, not _to_ you, but _with_ you.”

He shook his head a little on the pillow and moved to roll onto his back, still holding me by my butt and taking me with him. “C’mere.” He got comfortable, shifting his hips and moving his legs until they fitted between mine, my knees falling to either side of his thighs as I got situated on top of him. Once we were both settled, I folded my hands one on top of the other in the center of his chest and rested my chin on them to look up at him, his head propped up on his pillow. “I try to tell you every day how beautiful you are,” his hand ran over my hair from the crown of my head as far as he could reach down my back, “but I don’t know if you really understand what I’m trying to say. Yes, you are, god, you’re _fucking_ gorgeous.” He kept his hand on the back of my shoulder and brought the other to lift my chin with two fingers, running his thumb lightly over my bottom lip. “But I mean your heart, and your brain,” he moved from my chin and my lips to tuck a section of hair behind my ear, “how thoughtful you are and the way you always look at things from every angle. You have a really beautiful brain, baby girl.” With both hands on my biceps, he pulled me up to him. His arms went around my shoulders as his mouth claimed mine, more insistent than before, needy, almost. Not that I was judging, my panties growing more damp by the second.

I could tell as I started to pull away that he was trying to draw me back in. “Mmm,” I hummed, almost still against his lips. “So I take it I gave the right answer?” I grinned cheekily and looked up at him through my lashes.

He trailed one hand down my back to slap my butt lightly. “There was no right answer, but I really liked yours.”

“Good.” I leaned forward to kiss him, pulling back before he had a chance to deepen it. “You needed to hear it.” I kissed him again, starting with a solid press of my lips to his then trailing kisses across his cheek to the corner of his jaw then down his neck, the hand on my back travelling down to match the other, which was gripping my ass a little tighter with every kiss I pressed to his skin. When I made it to his shoulder, I sunk my teeth into one of the gorgeous, tight muscles there, just for a second, and his whole body went rigid (well, _more_ rigid, in some cases) beneath me. I soothed the bite with my lips and tongue, soft and attentive on his flushed skin, then continued my downward path, moving my hands from his chest to press into the mattress on either side of his ribs.

  
  
  


I took my time, kissing a mostly straight line right down the center of his chest and stomach, with small detours here and there to pepper kisses over his tattoos and trace the peaks and ridges of his muscles as they rippled under my touch. By the time I was still a few inches above his belly button, he’d clearly caught on to exactly what I intended to do, because one of his hands, both gripping the sheets beside him after falling off my body once I was too low for him to keep a hold on my butt, sank into my hair and he gently tilted my head back until I could look him in the eyes. “Babe, you don’t have to -”

“I know,” I cut him off, sure and confident. “I’m executing on my responsibility to take care of you.” I winked then and he rolled his eyes.

He started to protest, a little half-heartedly. “That’s not -” I cut him off again, still with my mouth, but not with my words. I skipped the teasing licks and kisses, going straight for wrapping my hand around the base of his cock and sliding my lips down over him as far as I could go. “Oh _fuck_. I’m gonna shut up now.” I hummed my agreement that that’s exactly what he should do and his grip on my hair tightened. He didn’t try to guide me, though, letting me move at my own slow pace, the pressure and suction I used lighter than usual and my tongue only lightly ghosting over his tip on every few passes. After a few minutes of what I can only assume was the best kind of torture (at least, that’s what I was going for, and it’s what the look on his face said he was feeling), he finally pulled me off him. “Okay, that’s enough of that. Get the fuck up here.”

I grinned devilishly as I crawled back up his body. “Too much?”

“Not enough.” He used the hold he still had on the back of my head to pull me back to him for an almost bruising kiss, his tongue sliding forcefully into my mouth then his teeth sinking into my bottom lip. I pushed myself up onto my knees, leaning down into the kiss and trying to give as good as I got as I used my hands to work my panties down my legs, letting go of the small cotton garment once it was at my knees to grip his shoulders and work one leg free then kick them off the side of the bed with the other leg. “You good?” he asked me, no doubt considerate of the possibility that we might need to take it easy after our rather vigorous activity earlier in the day, eyebrows raised and eyes promising everything he was about to make me feel as I seated myself right on top of him.

I wiggled my eyebrows. “I have a feeling I’m about to be better.” I rocked my hips so that the hard line of him slid between my folds, already almost embarrassingly wet, considering he hadn’t even touched me yet, and he groaned.

“Jesus you’re cheeky when you’re horny.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Nope.” He grabbed my hips and lifted me up and I reached between my legs to wrap my hand around him, guiding him until his head nudged at my entrance. He pulled me down on him, slow, steady, strong, until he was fully seated inside me. I gasped at the initial, welcome intrusion of his body into mine. “Still good?” I nodded, words not an option at the moment, and fell forward until my hands braced on his chest. “Good,” he affirmed as he started to move me, his hands on my hips pulling me up then sliding me back down. Already I felt my calves and feet starting to tense, my toes curling as he dragged along what felt like every still-sensitive nerve ending inside me. My head dropped forward and my eyes fell closed as I sagged forward, my arms threatening not to hold me up, not because they couldn’t but because it was all so much and my body was giving in to it all. “You are so beautiful.” He reached up with one hand to push my hair out of my face - he’d always made it very clear how much he loved watching my expressions as he took me apart - and with the other hand still on my hip he began to drag me forward and back, pushing his own hips up to fill me each time he pushed me back and causing my clit to grind against him with every pass. “And kind,” he pulled me down with the hand tangled in my hair and kissed me, hard, all lips and tongue and teeth, pulling and pushing and nipping. I felt consumed, his teeth claiming the soft, pink flesh of my bottom lip, his fingers imprinting the skin at my hip. It was like a fire, like he’d ignited a spark deep inside the moment he’d pushed into me and it was growing and blossoming and I was willingly giving myself over to it. 

He pulled back from the kiss just long enough to add, “And smart.” Then he was kissing me again, his tongue sweeping through my mouth in a complementary rhythm to the pace he was setting with our hips. “Thoughtful,” he added, a little breathless. “ _Fuck_ I love you so much.” And god, his hips were moving faster, and so were mine, propelled both by his hand, fingertips still digging into my hip and the side of my ass, and my own need for _more, more, more_. “Such an amazing wife,” he nearly panted as he pulled my hair, dragging my head back and exposing my neck to him for him to attach his lips to.

“Chris,” I whined, “I’m so,” words were _not_ my strong suit at the moment, “I need more.” I managed to get out, my breaths coming in short gasps and my brain all but completely short-circuited. “Touch me. Please.”

“Whatever you want, baby girl,” he panted into the crook of my neck and shoulder, sliding his hand from my hip to brush his middle finger over my clit, circling it once, twice, three times before adding his index finger into the mix, one finger on either side of the extremely sensitive bud of nerve endings. I arched my back up so he could keep touching me as I changed the motion of my hips, circling them and grinding down onto him as he continued to thrust into me, his fingers moving faster against me, almost pinching my clit between his two fingers with delicious, _just right_ pressure.

“Ohhhh god,” I pressed my cheek to the side of his head, his mouth nearly attached to my shoulder, and slid my hands up until I could hold his shoulders, my nails sure to leave half-moon indents on the back of them. “Yes, that’s,” I gasped when he gave more direct attention to my clit, his middle finger sliding over and around it at a pace that almost didn’t feel human. _“There_ ,” I managed to keen, my voice high-pitched and desperate, just before the fire he’d been stoking low in my belly erupted into an explosion of fireworks, sparks starting at my core and radiating out until they travelled through my arms and legs, all the way to where my fingers dug into his skin and my toes curled beside his thighs. Hell, I think I even felt it in my hair, even though I know that’s not possible.

He petted me through my orgasm, his touch growing slower and softer as I came down, until the tips of his fingers only skimmed over me as I tensed and trembled through the last few shudders of my waning climax. “That may have been a record,” he smiled up at me as I finally pulled away, sitting up again with my hands on his ribs and still rolling my hips slowly, aware of how overly stimulated and sensitive I was, but also that he hadn’t yet finished. “Should I be proud of myself, or …”

I nodded emphatically, my eyes wide, then softened my expression as I lowered myself slowly back down, my chest pressing to his through the cotton of the t-shirt I hadn’t even bothered taking off, my hands slipping around his ribcage and under his back and my hips starting to move in slow, steady circles. I knew he enjoyed it, based on the way his eyes rolled back a little and his hands, back to cupping my butt gently, tensed every so often. “I’ve missed you,” I told him before pressing my lips to his, then going on, our lips brushing as I spoke. “And I may still be overly sensitive from earlier.” It wasn't like it had been too rough, but it hadn’t been slow, gentle love-making, either, and it had certainly left an impression. I kissed him again and pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, one eyebrow lifted as I told him, “And you’re _very_ good at that.”

He smirked then and made a show of settling his head into the pillow behind him. “Alright then, proud it is.”

I rolled my eyes. “And who’s cheeky now?” I pulled one hand from under him and traced his jaw with my index finger, starting just under his ear and ending at his chin. “Lucky for you, that smirk is sexy as hell.” He jerked his eyebrows once toward his hairline. I slid my hand back up his jaw, cupping it in my palm as I leaned in for another kiss, my tongue sliding into his mouth as I began to roll my hips a little harder, a little faster, relishing in the delicious push and pull of him within me, no longer building toward anything, just feeling so, so good, allowing me to feel so close to him it was as if we were truly a part of one another. Then, after one last kiss, my teeth scraping across his bottom lip as I pulled away, I lifted myself up and off of him. I heard the whine I knew he didn’t mean to let out, but I was already on my way back down his body, my lips pressing to the column of his throat, my tongue tracing a path down the center of his chest, my teeth scraping over his ribs.

“Babe, seriously, you don’t -” he started when I swirled my tongue around his belly button, the words dying in his throat when I dragged my parted lips down his cock from tip to base, then licked a stripe back up again. “ _God_ , but I’m not gonna stop you.” Once upon a time, I wouldn’t even have considered going down on a man once he’d been inside me. But Chris had always loved to keep me on my toes, his head between my legs one second, his mouth claiming mine the next while he drove me closer to the edge with his fingers or slid inside me. It took me by surprise the first time, in the best way, and after that it always felt so good that it didn’t take long for me to get over that particular hangup, and all related ones. 

I moved faster than I had the first time, and with more pressure, closing my lips around him to take him as far as I could and my hand wrapping around what I couldn’t handle. I set a pace that rivaled the one he’d set when he had control of my hips, and on every third or fourth pass I swirled my tongue over his head or twisted my wrist as my hand moved in tandem with my mouth. I looked up at him through my lashes, watching his face as I continued to move, and out of my periphery I could see his hands fisting the sheets at his sides. “Oh _fuck,_ ” he moaned, his head pressing back into the pillow and his neck and shoulders tensing until I could see the veins and tendons straining against his skin. His right hand came up to cradle my cheek, his fingers combing into my hair at my temple, and his touch was surprisingly gentle, considering the power and tension I could see throughout the rest of his body. “I guess we both get to be proud of ourselves,” he nearly mumbled, the words a little slurred and tripping over each other. I grinned around him as I continued to look up at him. “Seriously,” he panted, a little frantic, almost, “you got like five seconds if you don’t wanna -” before he could finish I started to hum and reached between his legs with my free hand, my fingers dancing over the incredibly sensitive skin just below my other hand, still moving steadily up and down the base of his shaft as my head bobbed a little more quickly. “Or not. Oh shit. Oh god.” Every muscle in his body went impossibly more rigid, all except the hand on my face, which remained careful, controlled, his thumb rubbing softly over my cheekbone as he came. 

I slowed my pace gradually, carefully easing off the pressure from my mouth and my hand, knowing the mess I would make if I let him go before I’d managed to work all of his release down my throat. Finally, I let him slide out of my mouth, climbing back up his body with feather light kisses to his overheated skin as I went. I pulled my right leg back over him so I was no longer straddling him and tucked myself into his right side, his right arm snaking under me so his hand could hook over my hip and the left reaching up to slide under his head, my own head tucking under his chin on his chest. “Oh my god,” he sighed, his hand sliding under my shirt and his fingers trailing slowly up and down my ribs, almost like he was counting them one-by-one, “I think you broke me.” I giggled and pressed my face into his skin and he held me a little tighter before kissing the top of my head. “Okay, seriously, what do you need? What can I do for you?”  
I tilted my head back to look up at him. “Let me go so I can go pee?” I would need to do that anyway, but his arm still held me close, pressing me to him in a way that meant it needed to happen sooner rather than later.

He groaned, bringing his hand from behind his head to smack the mattress at his side and pressing his head back into the pillow, “That was the last thing I wanted to do.”

I leaned up to kiss the soft underside of his chin, his beard tickling my lips and nose. “Three minutes or less, I promise.”

“Fine, if you must,” he whined before letting me go, after one quick slap to my behind, his arm falling out and to the side on the mattress and his eyes falling closed as he faced the ceiling. 

He couldn’t see it, but I smiled fondly down at him once I’d rolled off the bed and before padding off to the en suite bathroom. I closed the door behind me, my smile growing and my eyes falling closed, both symptoms of the pure contentment I felt at that moment, as I dropped carefully onto the toilet. After peeing and cleaning myself up a bit, including swishing a mouthful of Listerine around my mouth, I switched off the light and made my way back into the bedroom. I stopped to grab a new pair of panties from the suitcase I hadn’t yet bothered to unpack and slipped them on before sliding back into the bed and under the covers that he’d straightened and pulled neatly back up as high as his chest. (I’d find the other pair of panties half under a bookshelf on the other side of the room in the morning, surprised they’d managed to travel that far when I kicked them off.)

“Two-seventeen,” he said matter of factly as I snuggled into his chest where he lay on his side facing me.

My mouth gaped a little as I looked up at him. “You did not time me.” 

He shrugged then pulled me a little closer by my waist, sliding his hand down to hook behind my knee and pull my thigh up onto his hip, his own leg bending up between mine. “I’m guesstimating.” I rolled my eyes playfully and he leaned in for a kiss. “Mmm, minty.” I just laughed and slipped my arm under his to rest my hand on his shoulder blade, my other arm sliding under my pillow and plumping it a little.

It was quiet for a few moments except for the low murmurs from the still playing television, then, “Hey, I meant every word, ya know. Especially the last part.” He slid his hand up my thigh from my knee and worked it under my shirt to settle on the small of my back. “You’re an absolutely incredible wife.”

“ _Your_ wife,” I said into the inch or so of space between our mouths.

He pressed me a little closer for a second and pressed his forehead to mine. “Yeah you are.”


End file.
